


In One Night

by kraken_creature



Series: Ineffably Ever After [1]
Category: Aziraphale - Fandom, Crowley - Fandom, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Softie Crowley (Good Omens), patient Crowley, shy Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-08 13:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kraken_creature/pseuds/kraken_creature
Summary: Set immediately after the non-pocolypse, starting with the bus ride from Tadfield to London, an angel and a demon believe they have one night to be honest with each other and try to be together.1st Chapter: Love confessions and kissing.2nd Chapter: Fluff and angst, resolving issues.3rd Chapter: Sexy times (at last).4th Chapter: Sleepy cuddles, more sexy times, and plotting.





	1. The Bus

Crowley sauntered onto the bus first, glancing dismissively at the driver.  Aziraphale paid for two fares to Oxford, knowing that the bus would take them to London instead but feeling that there was no reason that the poor driver should have missing fares to worry about too. As  Aziraphale turned, Crowley lifted his chin and gestured toward the back of the empty bus.

The angel made his way with care up the length of the now moving vehicle, following the slinking demon to the back seat. Crowley spread out there, his right arm cast over the headrest of the bench seat, and Aziraphale sat to his right side, his knees together and his hands resting in his lap.

They rode in silence for some miles.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again.

More miles passed.

They listened to the rumble of the engine. The roads were quiet. The M25 fire had been put out and the traffic had cleared at last; now it seemed that nobody else wanted to drive tonight, just in case.

Aziraphale half-turned to his companion, who turned his head and simply arched an eyebrow to ask what was on the angel’s mind.

“Do…” Aziraphale began nervously. “Do you suppose that they’ll leave us be now? Our sides, I mean.”

“Oh no,” Crowley said in his measured tone. “They can’t, can they?”

“They can’t?” Aziraphale repeated sadly.

“No. We’re far too embarrassing. The war might be cancelled but your lot and mine will both need someone to blame. No, it’s a matter of time before they come to… _deal_ with us.” Crowley placed a slow emphasis on the last part, implying much more than he cared to imagine.

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale’s hands held each other nervously, his brows had knitted together. He looked down at his ownfingers.

Crowley looked down the length of the bus.  “I think I’ll sleep for a few months. See what happens .”

Aziraphale shot Crowley a stunned look. “I really don’t think that they’ll wait until you’re ready to get up. They’ll come for you in your bed!”

“ Weeeeell , the humans say that there’s worse ways to go than in your sleep.”

“What a horrible thought.” Aziraphale turned away, staring at nothing. “I don’t want to go at all. I’d rather hoped that we could enjoy ourselves a little now that it’s over.”

“Hmmm.”

“There were things that I still wanted to do.”

“Like what?” Crowley asked, turning to face him. He caught Aziraphale’s eye, who turned to him again.

“Well, you know…”

Crowley’s eyebrows lifted in curiosity.

“Love, Crowley.”

“Oh come on now,” he said, a little too dismissively. “You’re an angel. Love is your trade.”

“Yes, yes, loving all things, but not really being in love.Not being loved. There never seemed enough time.”

Crowley looked away. “You’ve been around the humans too long. That’s their game.”

“Can you- your lot I mean- can you fall in love?”

Crowley ignored the question. Aziraphale looked back down at his nervous fingers and then stared out of the dark window. It was never clear to him if he offended Crowley sometimes; he always seemed touchy about his own demonic nature.

A moment passed slowly, quiety.

Crowley sniffed. “Haven’t you been in love before then?” he asked, trying for casual.

Aziraphale half-turned from the window. Panicked now, he replied, “Only the once, and I didn’t think it could work.”

“And now it might be too late, eh?”

“Don’t gloat,” the angel snapped.

“I’m not gloating, angel,” Crowley replied, more softly. “Tell me about it.”

Aziraphale turned slowly and met Crowley’s sunglasses-tinted gaze. There were no clues to be had from Crowley’s blank face; the demon was a teaser by nature, but Aziraphaledidn’t think he was teasing now. Aziraphale took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to go, Crowley. I don’t want this to be the end for me…for us. But if I am a condemned man then I would have you know the truth. I love you.”

Was there a flicker across Crowley’s face? Was there a short intake of breath? He spoke softly: “No, you don’t.”

“I do,” Aziraphale went on, now sounding more confident than he felt. “I’m in love with you and I have been for some decades now.”

“No, you’re not.” Crowley shook his head slowly as he spoke, a little sadly.

“I’ve been a coward until now. I should have told you sooner. I suppose we’ve known each other for so long that I felt silly. And I worried so much about what those upstairswould think of me. But if you’re right, and we’ll be…punished…then it doesn’t matter to me how many crimes I’m condemned for. I do love you,” he insisted, “and it doesn’t matter to me if they find out or if you don’t feel the same way.”

Aziraphale turned decisively to stare down the bus. He was aware that Crowley was still staring at him but he felt strangely freed by his confession. The war was over and he might die tomorrow but tonight- for one night- he was finally free.

At last Crowley spoke again, “You’re so stupid.”

The words tore through Aziraphale. His confidence morphed into anger, he turned to face Crowley. “And you’re cruel!”

“I am.”

“You mock me when I need you. You suggest we run away when we should stand and fight, and you stay just to be mean to me when I’m sincere.”

“I do.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you at all!” He turned away again abruptly, too annoyed to continue. This wasn’t going well, but Aziraphale hadn’t planned this conversation. He was riding on the high emotions of the day and the celebratory bottles of wine he had shared with Crowley while waiting for the bus.

Crowley, who had not run away. Crowley, who had driven his beloved car to destruction to be with him. Crowley, who had recognised him immediately in a borrowed body and had stood by his side at the end of the world. Crowley, who was now gently resting his left hand on Aziraphale’s own hands, still bunched in his lap. A thrill ran through Aziraphale. He didn’t turn- he couldn’t- he felt himself frozen.

“I don’t know why you bother either,” Crowley said. “I don’t deserve you.”

Aziraphale swallowed, still not turning. “Crowley, I-“

“Do you remember the garden? You said you’d given the humans your flaming sword and I knew then that I liked you and I shouldn’t but hey I’m the serpent, I’m supposed to do what I shouldn’t. …You were so different.” Crowley took a deep breath and plunged on: “So I just made a few opportunities over the centuries, made sure we crossed paths. It’s harmless enough. I just wanted to see you sometimes. And I knew you couldn’t have fancied me. I’m a demon, you’re an angel; you said it yourself, we’re enemies. And anyway, I didn’t think you were interested in anything…carnal.”

“Carnal?” Aziraphale spluttered.

Crowley slid his hand into Aziraphale’s grasp and continued: “I mean what other choice was there? You were the only interesting person I knew and I thought, if having lunch every fifty years or so is as good as it gets then that’s not so bad and at least I get to see him smile.” Crowley moved across the bench seat, closing the small gap between them so that his right arm rested behind Aziraphale’s head.Their knees touched slightly and Aziraphale took a shaky breath, nervous of the unfamiliar contact. Crowley leaned a little closer. “Angel, look at me.”

Aziraphale turned slowly, his eyes wide with conflicting emotions.

“I love you. I didn’t think I could until today, but then I thought you were dead in that fire. I thought I’d lost the only one on this whole bloody rock worth knowing, and right then I knew what I’d lost and I couldn’t stand it.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand. He wanted to comfort him, but realised he wasn’t sure how to. _Humans hug_ he thought. _Or kiss. Do demons kiss? Angels do, but I don’t want a chaste angel kiss. His lips are there. I could say something. What could I say? His lips are right there. I’m staring at him. Oh heavens, I’m staring at him. I-_

Crowley closed the gap between them in a quick, smooth movement and kissed the angel, gently. Aziraphale seemed immobile at first, and then something took over- not instinct, but long-learned traits, observed for centuries, read about in so many beloved books and copied at last. He kissed back, feeling the warmth of Crowley and inhaling the stink of fire that still clung to the demon’s clothes. His right hand slid from Crowley’s as they kissed and moved up his arm. He felt the weight of Crowley’s other arm come to rest around his shoulders, gathering him closer. He fumbled his left hand to Crowley’s jacket, gripping the lapel to hold him close, and Crowley’s left hand settled almost naturally on Aziraphale’sleg.

Finally they broke off their kiss, but could not let go of each other, like drowning men clinging to the shore. Crowley rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Angel. Don’t ever leave me.”

“I don’t think we’ll have a choice, my dear. They’ll come for us soon.”

“Fuck them.”

“Crowley…”

“Stay with me until they come. We’ll bloody well go together this time. Thelma and Louise.”

Aziraphale leaned back and looked at Crowley’s face. “Who?”

“You should have had a TV,” Crowley moaned, and kissed the angel again before he could protest.


	2. The Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One easy decision and one hard discussion wait for Crowley and Aziraphale at Crowley’s apartment.

The bus driver cleared his throat a second time, now loader. “Err, ‘ scuse me lads,” he called toward the back of the bus. It was embarrassing to have to interrupt the kissing couple. “This is the last stop.”

Crowley leaned back languidly. He took in Aziraphale’sstartled expression, like a frightened animal. He smiled a little to himself; he couldn’t help it if Aziraphale was appealing when he was nervous. Perhaps it was the demon in him that liked his discomfort, but he had to reluctantly admit that he preferred Aziraphale’s smile.

He focused on the familiar view out of the bus window.“Oh, right. We’re home.” Well that was odd to say. We’rehome. It sounded good. He got up without letting himself look at Aziraphale’s expression again, just in case he had heard the plural and what it might imply. Instead, Crowley tried for casual: “Come on then, angel.” He strutted his way along the bus toward the door, followed by the flustered Aziraphale. Turning briefly to the driver before disembarking he said, “Thanks.”

Aziraphale paused in front of the driver. “I’m _frightfully_ sorry to have kept you. We’ve only just got together, you see.”

“ S’alright ,” said the driver. He leaned forward conspiratorially and winked. “I remember what it was like when I first got with my missus. Barely came up for air!”

Aziraphale laughed nervously. This was all very new and, so far, undignified.

“ Oh bloody hell!” the driver exclaimed. “What am I going to tell her when I get home? She’ll kill me! And the boss- going to London when I should be -“

“No, no,”  Aziraphale interrupted, clicking his fingers. The driver stopped perfectly still. “They already know. Your lovely wife and manager know that you were… helping the police! Yes, helping the police to transport some of the poor people caught in that awful M25 nonsense. And they’ll be so proud of you.” He clicked his fingers again and the driver smiled.

“Right, yeah. Well mind how you go, lads,” the driver said. “And you too, dear,” he said to no one. For some moments after  Aziraphale departed the bus, the driver continued to say goodbye to other, imaginary passengers as they left. He was filled with the warm satisfaction of having helped his community. And the nice chap with the pale hair was right- his boss was  uncharacteristically pleased  and gave the driver the next day off work as a reward. H e spent it with his wife.

Crowley was  waiting on the pavement, his hands in his pockets . He gave the impression of casually reclining against something that wasn’t there. “Feel better for that?”

“A little,”  Aziraphale said. Doing good had cleared his head slightly; a mist had settled over his thoughts as he and Crowley had kissed. He was used to quickly shaking off his feelings for Crowley, not letting them fill him.

Crowley smirked and made toward the apartment building. “Come on .”  The front door unlocked at his touch. He held the door open for  Aziraphale , and the lift doors slid open as they approached.

The pair boarded the lift and stood side by side, each one finding it suddenly difficult to relax and act like their normal selves.  They might have one night, or one week, or one hundred years alone together, but time passes differently for immortals and they had a lot of it to make up for, and no idea how to start.

Crowley put his  fingers in his pockets , resting his palms on his slim hips, and watched as the lift doors shut. The lift began to move immediately .

Aziraphale frowned, although he was glad of something to focus on, and said, “You didn’t press the button.”

“Nope.”

“Crowley, do you keep summoning the front door open and the lift to open and move simply so that you won’t have to trouble yourself to remember your keys or press a button?” Aziraphale asked as they rode toward the top floor.

“No I don’t _summon __it every time_.” Crowley put a sulky emphasis on half of the sentence, bobbing his head from side to side as he spoke. “The building and I have an understanding. I told it once not to bloody well forget me.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but had to admit to himself that it was clever. Crowley was awfully clever. Aziraphaleprided himself on his thoroughness and, until very recently,his sense of duty, but Crowley had a way of conserving effort that he rather respected. It wasn’t so much lazy as it was poised. He looked at Crowley and found that Crowley was staring at him, smiling slyly. He looked away quickly, embarrassed again. At that moment the doors opened on Crowley’s floor, which came as a little relief.

Crowley had owned his apartment since the building was new.  There were two spacious apartments on the top floor and two on the floor below , with more, smaller flats on the other floors . Interestingly, although the building was an attractive one  in a fashionable part of London, and although appointments were sometimes made to view the  empty apartments, nobody ever moved in to the space immediately around Crowley’s. The landlord called it an infernal curse, and he wasn’t far from the truth. Crowley liked  his privacy, although he had now instinctively decided to make one exception.

Crowley paused in front of the door, his hand almost on the door handle. He stepped back. “You open it,” he said to the angel.

Aziraphale frowned. “But it won’t open for me. The doors open for you. ”

Crowley bit his lower lip in a smug half-smile andclicked his fingers. “It’ll open for you if it knows what’s good for it.”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a doe-eyed look.  “ Do y ou mean…?”

“Try it , ” he replied, shrugging.

Aziraphale touched the door handle and the locks immediately unlatched and slid back, clicking gently. He pushed and the door opened. He smiled a broad, warm smile and turned its full force on Crowley . “Oh. Oh, thank you, Crowley.”

“Just geeet iiiin,” Crowley moaned dismissively. “And don’t say anything nice.”

Aziraphale beamed. His shop might be gone but he had a new home now and, if time and heavenly forces allowed, he might start a new book collection. He felt sure that Crowley wouldn’t mind a bookshelf or two. He knew Crowley’s home was minimalist, but that just meant that there was space for him. He headed into the apartment, his mind already racing with the possibilities of this invitation. A shared space. For the two of them.

Crowley’s mind did not race. Crowley’s mind coiled around one idea:  he’s here, with me, and he’s happy, with me.

As they walked along the corridor the recessed lights came on automatically, illuminating the slate grey walls. Aziraphale had only been here twice before and thought that the apartment was rather barren, except for the plants of course. Crowley’s old house had had a greenhouse- the lushest and most verdant in England- and before that there had been a sun room at the old old house. The plants and the wine cellarthere had been unparalleled.

He stopped in the doorway at the end of the corridor, pulled up from his memories. There was a leather jacket in a puddle on the floor in front of him. “What is this?”

“Ah. That,” Crowley said, peering over  Aziraphale’s shoulder. “That was  Ligur . Don’t think you guys met.”

“A demon colleague of yours? What happened to him?”

“Well he and  Hastur figured it all out. They came for me. Your holy water did the trick for  Ligur , and-”

“The holy water? Crowley, get back!”  Aziraphale cried. “It doesn’t go off, you know. It could still hurt you or... Just because it’s been used doesn’t mean that it’s inert.”

Crowley was already backing away along the corridor. He had seen first-hand what holy water could do  to a demon  and didn’t want to end the night as a puddle.  Aziraphale ,  once satisfied as to  Crowley’s safety, turned to evaluate the room in front of him. He straightened his shoulders and made a flourishing movement with one arm, ending with a click of the fingers.

In an instant the leather jacket and the puddle had disappeared. Every spilt and splashed drop of holy water was lifted from the floor and walls. A red bucket appeared on Crowley’s desk. Draped over the side of the bucket was a pair of extra-long black  rubber gloves of industrial quality . Sticking up from inside the bucket was a set of long metal tongues, and beside them in the bucket sat  Aziraphale’s old tartan thermos, now once  more full of holy water and, presumably, just a little bit of  Ligur .

Aziraphale walked into the room and peered into the bucket. He straightened again and turned to the doorway. “It’s quite safe now.”

Crowley  strode in and  stopped beside  Aziraphale . He  looked into the bucket. He looked at  Aziraphale .

“Did you always plan this?”  Aziraphale asked. His happy smile from a moment before  had been replaced with a look of  deep  concern.

“Not exactly. Not  for  Ligur exactly,” Crowley replied. “I knew someone would come for me eventually. It’s what they do.”

“Really?”

“They’re not a cuddly bunch, angel.”

“No, no,”  Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “ What  I mean is , did you really always  intend it for one of them?”

“Of course! Who else would it work on?” He looked at Aziraphale’s stricken face and suddenly understood. “You didn’t think…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He thought back quickly to the conversations he and Aziraphale had had about holy water, and the weight of one simple misunderstanding pushed down on him. ‘You go too fast for me, Crowley.’ He thought I was going to leave him, alone with his books, his blessings and no one to talk to, and no chance for us to ever…

“You were never clear when you asked for it, Crowley,”  Aziraphale said, sadness filling his voice and spilling over the edges . He looked down. “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself. I couldn’t stand the idea that one day you’d be gone and I wouldn’t know what had happened, but it would be on my conscience.”

Crowley sighed. Honesty was proving to be hard work , but he couldn’t stand to see  Aziraphale so hurt, and knew now that this conversation was overdue . He lifted  Aziraphale’s chin with one finger. “I’m sorry I scared you.” The angel still looked so worried.  Crowley leaned in and kissed him, once , sweetly . “It’s ok. Really. Look, I like myself  far too much for that.”

Finally Aziraphale smiled, his little nervous smile, and Crowley knew he was out of trouble. For now.


	3. The Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finds himself feeling hungry, and isn't sure what he wants.

It was now getting quite late. It had been a long day. Aziraphale had died, possessed a human, been given a new body, and had used the new body to learn how to kiss. It had been far from an average Sunday for him and, he realised with horror, he hadn’t eaten a single thing since breakfast.

He set his wine glass down on the kitchen counter and stepped off the high bar stool. He removed his coat and carefully hung it on the back of the stool, and then began a thorough search through the kitchen cupboards. They were mostly empty. One cupboard held a lot of wine and a few bottles of port. Another had nothing in it but two tumblers and one coffee mug; the two wine glasses that usually accompanied them were already out. There was no food. He looked briefly in the fridge and, although it was unplugged and dark, he had the unsettling feeling that something inside looked back at him. He closed the door quickly. He straightened up and took a drink from his wine glass.

Crowley had gone for a shower, saying he had to “wash the burning Bentley smell off” and had left Aziraphale alone in the food-free kitchen. In Aziraphale’s mind, the only reasonable thing to do was to ask Crowley about the possibility of food. Surely Crowley would know his own neighbourhood and the likelihood of late-night eateries. Aziraphale picked up his glass and the wine bottle and set off in the direction that he had seen Crowley go.

Aziraphale pushed the bedroom door open slowly. He had never seen Crowley’s bedroom before and he wondered if it was now his bedroom too. He hadn’t had a bedroom or even a bed at the bookshop, believing that it would take up too much space. He had never taken an interest in sleeping in the way that Crowley had, preferring to spend the night-time reading or, occasionally, nipping to the southern hemisphere for a bite to eat.

He looked around, taking it in. It was clean, grey and uncluttered. There was a very large bed with black and red sheets, two nightstands, and a collection of beautiful and extremely poisonous plants on a chest of drawers. Crowley’s wine glass and sunglasses sat on one nightstand. Aziraphale could hear water running in the en suite.

He placed the wine bottle and his own glass down on the nearest nightstand, and sat anxiously on the edge of the bed, feeling very much out of his comfort zone. He wrung his hands nervously. He began to wonder if he wouldn’t actually be better waiting in the kitchen. At that moment the water stopped and he heard Crowley getting out of the shower.

“I’m in here, my dear,” he called as a warning. “I- I’m in the bedroom.” Aziraphale felt guilty as he said it. He glanced nervously around the featureless room, looking for something to focus on.

Crowley opened the bathroom door with a towel around his waist, using another to dry his hair. “What’s that?”

Aziraphale turned to the doorway, saw Crowley’s bare chest, and turned away again, flustered. He shut his eyes determinedly. “I- I wanted to warn you that I was in here.” He hated the telling hitch in his own voice.

“Oh, that’s alright,” Crowley said from under the towel, apparently not noticing.

Aziraphale’s head swam. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It occurred to him suddenly that sleeping was not the only activity for which beds could be used, and he took another deep, shaky breath. He heard Crowley moving around, and then the sound of a towel landing on the floor. He closed his eyes tighter. After a moment, the sounds of movement stopped. The room was quiet.

Crowley was now dressed in black jeans and a fitted grey t-shirt. He stood in front of Aziraphale and looked down at him curiously. “Why are your eyes shut?”

“You were…in a state of undress,” he replied, his eyes still shut.

Crowley smirked. He stepped closer, his bare feet making only the slightest sound, leaned in and whispered in Aziraphale’s ear, “Afraid you’ll like what you see?”

Aziraphale jumped back, his eyes wide open. Crowley took in his startled expression and his shoulders sagged. He cupped Aziraphale’s cheek in his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you jump.” At Crowley’s warm touch, Aziraphale’s nervous, flittering smile crept across his face. He leaned in to Crowley’s hand, although he felt his own tremble. Crowley watched him carefully.

“I’m on your bed,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“I noticed.”

Aziraphale stared, uncertain what to do next. The quiet stretched between them.

“Look, we don’t have to be here, angel,” Crowley said. He threw his arms wide. “We can do whatever you like. I could manifest a sofa and we could watch TV. Or we could go for a walk. Whatever you want.”

“I don’t _know_ what I want.” The reply was small and sad, and not entirely true. Aziraphale had always felt an internal conflict where Crowley was concerned: a choice between his duty to heaven to be virtuous, pure, and resist temptation, and the warmth that Crowley emitted, the sense of belonging and wanting that had at times been hard to dismiss. He had denied the pull that he felt towards Crowley for six thousand years and had got into the worst kind of trouble anyway, so now he made an effort to move into that feeling. He saw nothing but concern in Crowley’s eyes, and drew confidence from it. Heaven didn’t want him, but Crowley did. Crowley had always wanted him just the way he was. “I think I’d like to stay here.”

Crowley’s head bobbed to one side, a casual little nod. He moved around to sit beside the angel, leaning back on one arm. With the gentlest touch, he began to stroke Aziraphale’s back with his free hand.

“You know you can trust me, right?” Crowley asked softly.

“I know.” And he did.

“I’ve wanted you here for so long. …We can sleep, or talk, or just lie down together. Whatever you want to do, angel. It’s up to you.”

Aziraphale turned to him. “It always was, really, wasn’t it?”

Crowley’s nose crinkled, a quiet expression of assent. The patience of saints had nothing on him.

“I do love you. And I really don’t think that that can be wrong,” Aziraphale reasoned.

Crowley smiled a little now. “Your lot are all in for love,” he encouraged.

“And yours for lust.”

“Weeeell…” Crowley said coyly. It was all he could manage. He was determined to go slowly, but the direction that he was being steered in was unmistakable. He could smell temptation a mile away. Perhaps he was rubbing off on Aziraphale. The thought gave him pause.

Aziraphale began to blush before he spoke again. “Crowley, can you…”

Crowley raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“What I mean is, do you… Well, you see, earlier, on the bus you mentioned…being intimate. Can you?”

The nod of Crowley’s head was slight at best. His eyes stayed fixed on Aziraphale’s, searching for a reaction.

Angels are not human. They look human, sometimes. Aziraphale, through practice, had got very good at looking like a human male. Angels also do not come equipped with human drives, but Crowley knew that Aziraphale had grown quite fond of certain human pleasures such as food and self-care. Sex, however, was something that they had never discussed.

For Crowley’s own part, the equation was simpler: he had reasoned that it was easier to tempt humans into wantonness if you were ready for it yourself. He currently preferred to look as much like a human male as he could, excepting always his impossible eyes, but he was just as comfortable in a different gender. For both angels and demons there is no distinction, and Crowley saw only possibilities, all of them unexplored. He had done a lot of tempting over the centuries, but had only ever wished to focus his own attention in one direction.

“I’d quite like to try,” Aziraphale said sheepishly.

“Sure.” Crowley hoped he sounded nonchalant. He was hellishly curious about Aziraphale’s body, wrapped always in layers of antique clothes. It was like a chocolate in a foil wrapper- he couldn’t see what was inside but he knew it would be sweet, and he had always been curious to try it. He kissed Aziraphale on the lips, trying to be gentle, trying to stay patient. He had wanted him for six thousand years and wasn’t going to scare away the nervous angel now.

Crowley turned and climbed up the bed, then unfurled his slender frame along it. He patted the empty space next to himself. Aziraphale hesitated only briefly, then turned to untie his shoes. In a moment he had slipped them off and shuffled uneasily up the bed. Crowley reached up and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him down and into a hug.

Crowley smelt clean and earthy. He was warm, and wrapped himself easily around Aziraphale, who held himself still. Crowley waited, stroking with his thumb where it lay on Aziraphale’s arm until the tension slipped by.

“If it gets too much, we’ll stop,” Crowley said, breathing into Aziraphale’s curls. He felt the angel nod against him.

Aziraphale began to move slowly, shifting to face Crowley. Crowley planted small kisses over his forehead, nose, and then his lips. Aziraphale softened under his touch and reached to place his hand on Crowley’s side. His fingers began to stroke idly, feeling the firm flesh under the t-shirt. Crowley let out a heavy breath and wrapped himself a little more tightly around Aziraphale.

Aziraphale felt himself engulfed in Crowley’s embrace. He had spent so many years convinced of Crowley’s goodness, but had never imagined that it could be good _like this_. He kissed Crowley more firmly and felt his lips part. He slid his tongue against Crowley’s, relishing the taste, and felt the arms around him pull him closer again. He wrapped his arm around the small of Crowley’s back and felt the warm flesh where his t-shirt had risen up. He slipped his hand under the fabric and stroked Crowley’s back, feeling in return Crowley begin to explore his arms, his back, his backside.

Crowley began to feel more confident. Aziraphale was soft and sweet, and growing bolder every moment. He cast one leg over Aziraphale’s hip and drew himself close, levering his leg against Aziraphale’s backside. He pressed his crotch against Aziraphale’s thigh and heard a startled noise. He paused there, absolutely still for the briefest moment, but as Aziraphale recognised the new pressure pressed against him he deepened their kiss and moved his hand down to Crowley’s buttocks. There was freshness and urgency in Aziraphale’s touch, and Crowley basked in it.

Aziraphale shifted his hips slightly and slotted his own crotch beside Crowley’s, pressing himself in. He heard a low moaning hiss escape Crowley’s throat, their kiss barely interrupted by it. The tension he felt in his member was somehow unknown but familiar, uncomfortable and so very good. He mirrored the movements of Crowley’s hips as best he could until they found a rhythm there, each pressing against the other.

Crowley leaned back slightly, breaking off the long, long kiss. His yellow eyes scanned Aziraphale’s flushed face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered earnestly.

There was a wildness about the angel now that Crowley had never seen before. He pressed himself against him and saw Aziraphale’s expression squirm.

Aziraphale took in a ragged breath. “I want you.”

“I’m yours, angel.”

He had barely finished speaking before Aziraphale had begun to pull his t-shirt off. His own hands fumbled at the buttons on Aziraphale’s waistcoat. Aziraphale was already working on Crowley’s trousers when Crowley gave up, impatient. “Too many damned buttons,” he growled and clicked his fingers. Aziraphale gasped, delighted now by Crowley’s intense tone. All of the buttons, all of the zips between them, and Aziraphale’s bow tie had come undone. Aziraphale threw himself back onto Crowley in a long, hungry kiss as their hands began to explore each other anew.

Crowley rolled onto his back, pulling Aziraphale on top of him in his firm grip and without Aziraphale ever giving up the beat of their kiss. He began to pull at the sleeves on Aziraphale’s shirt. Aziraphale felt the tug and pulled his arms free of it quickly, feeling the shirt and waistcoat fall away together. Warm hands ran over his smooth back, pulling him ever closer, tighter, nearer.

In the little space there was between them, Aziraphale began to wriggle free of his own trousers. The squirming thrilled Crowley, and he again gripped Aziraphale and rolled them over. Aziraphale landed on his back on the bed and Crowley leaned away, breaking their long embrace to pull off first Aziraphale’s trousers and then his own. Aziraphale threw his arms around Crowley and kissed him hungrily. Crowley pressed himself down, his slim body fitting perfectly against Aziraphale’s delightful fullness, and manoeuvred his legs in between Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale began to work along Crowley’s sharp angles, kissing his jaw and slender neck. He kissed Crowley’s snake mark by his hairline and inhaled deeply. “I want you,” he said again.

“I’m right here,” came the reply from too far away.

“I _need_ you.”

“Tell me what you want, angel. Anything.”

Aziraphale didn’t have the language for what he wanted. It was more ancient than either of them, natural and good, but their bodies knew. He kissed Crowley with deep urgency, running his tongue over Crowley’s sharper teeth and learning his mouth. He ran his hand down Crowley’s back and under the waistband of his briefs. He felt the tight buttocks and explored the toned hips and then down, between them, grasping Crowley’s firmness and knowing immediately that this was what he was seeking. His hand began to move. Crowley moaned into his mouth.

Now unwilling to let go of his prize, Aziraphale used his free hand to push Crowley’s chest away. Crowley looked at him, confused, and then moaned again at Aziraphale’s relentless touch. Aziraphale pushed Crowley further and forced him onto his back. He kissed Crowley’s neck and across his chest. He ran his tongue across each nipple and then down his sternum. He felt Crowley squirm and kick away his shorts, all as Aziraphale explored the terrain of his stomach, always travelling downward to where his fingers still worked.

Crowley groaned as Aziraphale took him in his mouth. He stroked Aziraphale’s shoulders and looked down, stunned. “You don’t have to,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse. As if in response, he felt Aziraphale take him deeper into his mouth. He threw his head back, his face contorting as this feral new pleasure washed over him. His hips rose and fell slightly to meet the beat of Aziraphale’s movements, quickening and desperate for each other. It seemed impossible. He’d thought it was wrong of him to want it. He’d thought he was the only one who wanted it. It felt so good. “Oh fuck,” he rasped as he came, digging his fingers into Aziraphale’s pale shoulders.

After a moment, Aziraphale lay back in Crowley’s arms. He nuzzled into the crook of Crowley’s shoulder. There was nowhere to hide against Crowley, and he suddenly felt embarrassed.

“You are brilliant,” Crowley whispered. He placed a kiss in the midst of Aziraphale’s fair hair and wrapped his arms around his bare shoulders.

Aziraphale blushed deeply. He didn’t dare move. “You don’t mind?”

“Mind?” Crowley laughed. “Why would I mind _that_?”

Aziraphale squirmed, half shrugged. “I thought I might have gotten a little carried away.”

“Oh you can get carried away again,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale smiled a little against him. Perhaps he would, at that.


	4. The Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale savour their night together and, as the morning creeps in, make plans.

They had settled beneath the bedsheets together, limbs entwined impossibly. Crowley breathed through a mask of Aziraphale’s curls, his nose buried in their midst. He breathed softly. He didn’t dare move or make a sound. This was peace. This was rapture, and he would tear apart anyone or anything that would disturb them.

Aziraphale did not usually sleep, but had drifted off comfortably here, safely enveloped in bed linens and Crowley’s embrace. He shifted, gentle sleeping noises escaping him. Crowley held his breath. Aziraphale stilled, settled back in Crowley’s arms, did not wake.

Crowley did not sleep. Sleeping had long been his favourite animal habit, but he had only ever been alone in this bed. Now he would wait, and listen, and feel his way through every moment until Aziraphale woke. He would not let a second of this pass him by.

Outside, the sky began to change. It drifted from darkness to pale darkness. Morning would eventually come but it was in no hurry, and neither was Crowley.

-

Aziraphale woke slowly. As he felt the angel begin to stir, Crowley pressed a kiss to his temple. His eyes flickered open. Aziraphale lifted his gaze until his eyes met Crowley’s, and then smiled a contented, still-sleepy smile. Crowley smiled back softly, honestly- a rare thing, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said, half in a whisper.

“Not yet. It’s still dark.” _There’s still time._ “Sleep well?”

“Mmm. Was I asleep for long?”

“Couple of hours, maybe.”

A moment of calm. Crowley drew in the sight: Aziraphale smiling, in his arms. Perfection.

“Do you know, it’s funny,” Aziraphale said, shuffling back slightly to look at Crowley more fully, “I came in here because I was feeling hungry.” He chuckled sweetly, thinking of the distractions that he had fallen victim to.

“Oh, I see,” Crowley said, raising an eyebrow. “So you thought you’d eat-” He stopped short, registering the angel’s innocent, uncomprehending smile. He couldn’t be crude to that face, not now. He cleared his throat. He spoke more briskly: “Never mind. Are you still hungry?”

Aziraphale leaned up on one elbow. “Oh, I could certainly manage something, but your kitchen is rather empty.”

Crowley made a grumbling noise of agreement.

“Would anywhere be open nearby? We could pop out…”

“Nowhere decent, not at this time on a Saturday night- weeell, Sunday morning now, really.” Crowley pushed himself up to a sitting position. “There’s no need, though.” He clicked his fingers. A dish of raspberries and a plate of chocolate eclairs appeared on the nightstand nearest Aziraphale. He nodded his head toward them.

Aziraphale turned slowly. As his eyes settled on the treats, he sat up. He turned quickly from the food to Crowley, and back again. Crowley smiled a sly, indulgent smile.

“Oh, Crowley, thank you.” He picked up the raspberries first. “Would you like some?”

“You go ahead, angel. I ate last week.”

Crowley leaned back against the headboard and watched as Aziraphale ate and sipped his wine. He loved to watch Aziraphale eat. Every morsel was a delight to him, and worth savouring. It had never once taken a _real_ temptation to persuade him to come for a meal and each one had given Crowley the opportunity to watch- to really, unashamedly watch Aziraphale. At hundreds of eateries across thousands of years, Crowley had been able to enjoy his company without pretext. He had fed himself on Aziraphale’s happiness and, at the end of each meal, as they parted ways, Crowley had wanted more.

The angel’s little indulgences had given him hope. Angels and demons do not need to eat; Crowley himself did so infrequently. Aziraphale, on the other hand, _enjoyed_ it. A creature who should exist to serve and to bring goodness had a weakness for food. The greediness, the selfishness of it, excited Crowley, just as he knew his own unwillingness to really hurt anyone had pleased Aziraphale. They were as flawed as each other.

More than that, Crowley had always wondered what else might please Aziraphale. He remembered still the first time the thought had occurred to him. They had sat in a dusty market and chatted as Aziraphale ate dates. Crowley simply watched Aziraphale eat each date slowly, smiling guiltily at their sweetness. He watched his lips moving as he chewed, the bob of his throat as he swallowed, and Crowley had wondered… It didn’t hurt to imagine. Crowley didn’t expect the angel to have any interest in sex, so he had settled for voyeuristically taking in these small, stolen pleasures.

Not now. The bedsheets had settled around Aziraphale’s waist, leaving his torso exposed. Crowley marvelled at the swell of his stomach, the fullness of his nipples, the soft down of blonde hair on his pecs.

“Mmmm. These are _awfully_ good,” Aziraphale said as he finished an eclair. “Are you sure you won’t have a taste?” He turned his tender smile to Crowley. A spot of stray cream sat at the corner of his lips. Crowley swiped it away with his thumb and sucked it. The angel blushed, his eyes fixed on Crowley’s face. It was all Crowley could take.

“That is good,” he said, leaning in. He kissed Aziraphale insistently, opening his lips. Aziraphale moaned. His tongue darted in- a quick thief of a taste, the chocolate and cream still on Aziraphale’s pallet. He leaned away and pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s. “Ssso good.”

This time Aziraphale kissed him, lifting his chin until his lips caught Crowley’s. His hand fluttered to rest on Crowley’s arm. Crowley parted his lips again and let his tongue stray more deeply in their kiss. Aziraphale moaned into his mouth, his own tongue darting, flirting under Crowley’s.

Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheeks in his hands as they kissed and leaned in, pressing him to the bedhead. He ran his hands down Aziraphale’s front, lingering over every graceful curve. He flicked both of the angel’s nipples with his thumbs and felt Aziraphale jump beneath him. He smirked against Aziraphale’s lips.

He ran his hand down between the bedsheets and Aziraphale’s briefs, fingers dancing across his effort. He felt it start to grow beneath his fingers and took hold through the fabric, eliciting a snorting gasp from Aziraphale. He began to massage there, and felt Aziraphale grip his arms more firmly.

Gently pushing Crowley away by his unoccupied arm, Aziraphale broke their kiss. His brows were furrowed with concentration. His reddened lips trembled slightly before he spoke, breathily: “I think I may be overdressed for the occasion.”

Crowley snorted but took the cue. Letting go of Aziraphale- and not without thrilling at the sharp intake of breath from the angel as he did so- he grasped the bedsheet and threw it back from them. He ran his hands up Aziraphale’s thighs and up his hips, grasping the waistband of his briefs. Aziraphale obligingly lifted his hips, and Crowley slid the shorts off his legs and threw them carelessly over his shoulder. He slunk in between Aziraphale’s legs and knelt there reverently, stroking the angel’s thighs and looking him over, taking in the smallest details. Aziraphale blanched under his gaze, although his organ, traitor that it was, bobbed at the nearness of Crowley’s touch.

Crowley’s hands rolled to the insides of Aziraphale’s thighs, edging closer with every lingering stroke until his knuckles grazed his length. Aziraphale inhaled sharply but Crowley would not be rushed. He continued his unhurried caresses, sliding his hands now in counter-motion as they drifted over Aziraphale’s inner thighs and crease. Aziraphale spread his legs wider, inviting the teasing demon in.

“P-please, Crowley,” he whined.

“Hmmmm?” Crowley raised his eyebrows. His yellow eyes fixed Aziraphale’s as he ran the back of one hand gently over his member, then brushed his fingers across the opposite side before gripping it firmly. Aziraphale gasped and he began to work. The fingers of his other hand grazed the angel’s opening. Aziraphale gasped again, his stare widening.

“Y-yes,” he breathed. “Please.”

With a quiet click of his fingers, they were slick and Crowley began to sooth the wetness against Aziraphale. He pressed in gently, teasingly, with one finger, and eased back before pressing in again. The slightest movement, bending and straightening his finger, let Aziraphale open to him slowly. This was not a moment to be hurried.

Aziraphale began to roll his hips down to meet Crowley’s hand until his finger slid in to one knuckle. Crowley paused there, his other hand still stroking, waiting to feel Aziraphale open. He pushed gently into the warmth as Aziraphale relaxed around him and then stopped again, having reached his limit.

“You ok, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded vehemently.

He began to move again, running his finger in and out, bent to graze Aziraphale’s most intimate spot. Aziraphale’s shuddering breaths drew him on and, carefully, another finger slithered in.

Aziraphale grasped at the bedsheets, taking fistfuls. He daren’t tare his eyes from Crowley’s, daren’t look down at the delicious poetry between his legs. He took his confidence from the demon’s calm, focused expression. He felt himself opened, his heart steeping in the adoration that rolled from Crowley. He writhed under Crowley’s touch, around his touch, his arms shaking. He rolled his head, keeping sight of Crowley’s bright eyes- the twin stars at the centre of his universe.

Crowley felt the muscle around him tighten and twitch. He knew that Aziraphale’s moment was imminent and quickened both of his clever hands, diving into the heat of the angel.

“Cro- _oooh_ -oley,” he stammered, bucking his hips as he came, spattering himself and Crowley’s hand.

Crowley slowed his motions until the shaking stopped. He slid his fingers carefully out and leaned forward, over the mess between them, to sow small, tender kisses into Aziraphale’s lips. He felt Aziraphale sigh and stretch his still-quaking legs along the bed around him.

Crowley used the nearest garment- his own underwear- to clean both of them before draping himself around Aziraphale again. He pulled the sheets over them both and settled in. A contented warmth spread over them both and Crowley inhaled deeply, his eyes heavy. He listened to the gentle rhythm of Aziraphale’s heart and let it carry him, like waves of a tide, further out to sleep.

\- -

Weak, grey, early morning light crawled through the window blinds. The sun was rising with an effort now and, far below the bedroom, London stirred and began to rise. Not here. Not yet.

\- - -

“Crowley.” The voice was quiet but insistent.

“Hmm? Wassat?” Crowley stirred reluctantly. He lifted his head from Aziraphale’s chest and looked up into his concerned face. “What’s wrong, love?”

Aziraphale’s brow softened, an endearing smile teasing his lips. What a thing to be called on a night like this, a night like none that he had imagined. It made him all the more convinced that he was doing the right thing by waking Crowley from his rest, by trying to plan ahead for them both.

“Crowley, my dear, I’ve had a thought.”

“Can it wait until morning?”

“It is morning.”

“Fine,” he said gruffly, settling back in against Aziraphale. “Go on.”

“Well, what we’ve been doing has given me an idea. What if we could _really_ be inside each other.”

“The humans have got a name for that. I think it’s a number. Can’t remember which one...”

“No, no. Listen, Crowley. Do you remember Agnes Nutter’s last prophecy, the one that I showed you?”

“Mmmm,” Crowley hummed, trying to follow Aziraphale as he seemingly changed tracks. “Something or other about fire and choosing faces.”

“Well I’m quite sure that it was about us,” Aziraphale explained. “I think she’s trying to help us. You see, I don’t believe that Heaven is going to wait very long before they come for me.” Crowley tightened his arms around Aziraphale’s body. Aziraphale patted his arm in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture and pressed on: “I doubt that your side will wait either. They don’t seem like very a patient lot. But whatever they have in mind for you can only work on a demon, yes? And whatever my side can think of will be geared toward an angel.”

“Is this going somewhere, angel, or are you just trying to depress me?”

“Well, what if we could be each other. We would swap forms, at least until this has blown over.”

At this Crowley looked up, his face puzzled. He thought for a moment and then sat up fully. “So you want us to- what- hide in plain sight? Take each other’s places?”

“Yes, essentially.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment. “Could that even work? You said yesterday that if an angel tried to occupy a demon body, they’d explode. I don’t fancy exploding.”

“That might happen to another angel or another demon, but tonight’s _manoeuvres_ have rather proven to me that we aren’t going to react to each other like that.”

“Huh. So then any punishment that hell thought up for me would wash over you. What kills a demon doesn’t so much as tickle an angel. And whatever heaven tried couldn’t really hurt me; I’ve already fallen, so what can they do? But how would we even…?”

“Well, how do you usually change your form?”

“I just concentrate.”

“There we go then.”

“It’s not that simple,” Crowley said, lowering his tone. “You’re talking about both of us _convincingly_ imitating each other in front of beings who know us. You’re talking about sustaining a different shape for Satan knows how long.”

“But who knows us better than each other? I dare say that after six thousand years we could make passable imitations.”

Crowley considered it. He tipped his head to one side. The challenge of changing his form so drastically appealed to him. It might provide an opportunity for him to really make a mockery of heaven for the first time since his fall. And Aziraphale was right- he couldn’t think of anything that heaven could throw at Aziraphale that he couldn’t withstand, if he was in the angel’s place, and Aziraphale was the strongest being he knew.

“Alright. What have we got to lose,” he said at last. “But get dressed first. It’d be a real miracle if I could tie that bowtie of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to a monster for the foodie suggestions and the encouragement.
> 
> Edit: I wrote Ground Rules after this. It fits chronologically after this but the tone is different, more cute and comedic on the wholle.


End file.
